12.1.09

The cockpit

He lives in the airOf distempered feelingsAs an errant photographerOf his own erosionsSigning kindly the yearsPassing at the cockpitThe clock insideSpies the skyOf past timeRocksOnce he had told herUsed to beHis childhood shelterWhen they cocked the eyeAt his fearOf sharing feelings in lifeToday If she had been aliveThey would have enjoyed those rocksLike two monk sealsUntouched by chorusesOf the deadThe only shelter now isThe cockpitSky baths are dangerous